


Any Hiatus Is Painful

by I May Age Regress (shnuffeluv)



Series: Gibbs' Family [64]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Age Play, Age Regression/De-Aging, Angst, Anniversary, Daddy Issues, Gen, Heavy Angst, Nightmares, Non-Sexual Age Play, Self-Doubt, Time Skips, no I don't regret it, s3e24: Hiatus, yes i'm using that tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-18 07:55:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11286948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shnuffeluv/pseuds/I%20May%20Age%20Regress
Summary: We all knew it was coming! Gibbs gets caught in an explosion and he wakes from a coma with no memory, before leaving for Mexico. The whole team reacts to their time away from one of the most important people in their respective lives.!!!Happy one-year anniversary of theGibbs' Familyuniverse!!!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Guys guys guys guys guys! We did it!!! We made it a whole year! I can't believe it! It's been so exciting to go on this ride with you, and I can't wait for more stories to follow this one! Enjoy it! Or, y'know, cry over it. Angst and all. ;)

Gibbs blinked in the darkness outside what he was informed was his home. To be honest, he only vaguely remembered being here, he spent most of the time his family lived here on tour. He was surprised he stayed in this place. He could have sworn he told himself he was going to move out after he got his revenge.

Yet here he was, standing in front of his own house, memories flitting at the edge of his consciousness but never close enough to actually remember. There was something important in this place, he could feel it, some of the memories he only saw glimpses of when he regained most of his senses. They were already gone, and to be honest, after hearing what everyone told him, he didn't want them back. Especially not if they made him inclined to stay.

Bracing himself, he walked into the entryway. Something was different about the place. It looked...lived in. When he had returned from tour almost everything had been stripped away for evidence. He could see some of it had returned and there were new items as well. He walked into the living room, looking around. There were two toy chests sitting on either side of the entrance to the basement. Both of them looked fairly big, and Gibbs crouched down in front of the one on the right and opened it. Inside, there were blocks, wooden toy cars, even a toy sailboat, among various stuffed animals and other soft toys. Gibbs frowned. It looked like a toy collection that might belong to a toddler, all big pieces and soft edges.

Curious, he moved to the next one. This one had a few smaller toys, but there were still very few choking hazards. He looked through it and found a toy record player that looked straight out of the eighties. He frowned. There was something...eerily familiar nagging at him. Looking at the player made him feel faintly nauseous, like there were too many bad days that this was used, rather than good ones. He put it back in its chest quickly, slamming the top down harder than necessary. That was not why he was here, he was here because he needed to pack and leave. He walked out of the living room and up the stairs, looking around.

His guest bedroom looked like it was used by the same person fairly often; there was a hairbrush and a book resting on the nightstand. This was just making Gibbs feel more and more uneasy. First the children's toys, then the lived-in guest room. It even smelled faintly like perfume. He turned away quickly and nearly ran head first into a cracked door. This was getting stranger and stranger. Did he really live here anymore?

He opened the door and walked in. He blinked. Tilted his head to the side. Maybe he should have been in the hospital longer, because this couldn't be right.

This room looked exactly like a nursery might. It had a crib on the side of the wall closest to the door, and a bed on the exact opposite side. There was a security blanket on the bed, and a few pacifiers on a stand next to the crib. But rather than being sized for two small children, everything looked large enough for an adult to fit on. Gibbs continued looking around. There were toys scattered everywhere, and a dresser was on the other side of the door, in line with the crib. Near the window across from the door and to the right, there sat an adult-sized rocking horse.

Gibbs left the room quickly and took a deep breath. No, this couldn't possibly be his house, could it? There was no way he had a nursery for two _adults_. Maybe he rented it out? Maybe this was the first time he was seeing this. But no, he recognized the woodwork on the crib and the bed. It was undeniably his. He knew about this...whatever _this_  was.

He continued walking down to his bedroom.

Finally, some familiarity. It looked like he slept in the bed recently, but other than that everything appeared untouched. He grabbed the first clothes he could find, shoved them into a suitcase, and left without taking another look in the rooms. Whoever used them would soon figure out he had left.

It was when he was outside that he realized he'd have to get a taxi, and he had no money. Nor any desire to go back into that house that just seemed so _wrong_. He was about to steel his nerves and go back in anyway when a horn honked down the street. Gibbs blinked. It was Franks. He pulled up to the curb and stepped out of the car.

"Thought you left for Mexico," Gibbs said.

"Thought you were staying at NCIS," Franks replied. "Figured I might as well give you some friendly advice before I left. But if you're retiring, we have other things to discuss."

Gibbs chuckled. "Yeah? How about we talk about it on the way to the airport?"

"Sure, Probie," Franks said, gesturing to the car. "Where you headed?"

"That depends," Gibbs said. "What part of Mexico are you holding hostage as your own now?"

Franks chuckled. "Come on, then. Plane won't wait forever."

Gibbs got in the car, and most of the ride to the airport was held in silence. Too caught up in his own thoughts to speak, Gibbs wondered what everything in his house meant. Who was everything he made for? Was it for one person or two? Was he in some sort of...caretaker program, perhaps? A nurse staying in his guest room X amount of days a week while he looked after...well, someone? He didn't know; that part of his memory was irritatingly blank.

Was it a kink?

That thought hit him so suddenly he sat up ramrod straight in his chair. If it was, it would explain a few things. But his gut was telling him there was something wrong about that statement. He grunted in irritation. Why was he even thinking about this? He wasn't coming back, it wasn't like it was going to matter six months down the line.

Franks glanced at him. "Something on your mind?" he asked.

Gibbs shook his head. "House was different than I remembered. It just...bugged me."

"Well, you lived a life beyond your last memory," Franks blew off. "That's not a surprise. Or something to worry about."

"I _know_ ," Gibbs replied. _So why is it bugging me this much?_

Franks sighed and rolled his eyes. "You're too much like when I was first teachin' ya. Always seeing threats and problems in things that aren't there. It's the Marines that taught ya that, but you ain't in the Marines anymore. Relax."

"If only it were that easy," Gibbs sighed, turning to look out the window again.

A thought struck him. _A blond pulling a security blanket close to his face, inhaling its scent. Within moments, he was already asleep. Gibbs chuckled and ruffled his hair. He turned to the crib, making sure that the brunet inside already had a pacifier and was not sucking his thumb again. Satisfied his boys were okay, he turned and left the room for the night._

Gibbs blinked. The nursery in his house...that's where the memory was. And those people...were his agents? What was he doing with them? _Why_  was he doing that with them? He pulled a face. That was...he didn't even know. He felt...disgusted? Terrified? Nauseous? Certainly not any emotion that was positive, like the memory might have suggested. "Floor it," he told Franks.

"Whatcha say?" Franks asked.

"Floor it," Gibbs growled. "The sooner we get out of here, the better."

Franks sent him a look, but obliged. Soon they were at the airport, and a trip through security later, they were getting on a plane to Mexico. Gibbs was still disturbed by the memory, which, much to his chagrin, stayed in the forefront of his mind. He had no idea what that was, and he did _not_  want to find out.

_Your boys will miss you_ , a nagging voice in his head said. _You should go back and make sure they're okay. You almost died on them, and now you're not coming back?_

_Shut up,_  Gibbs retorted. _They're not my boys. Never have been and never will be. They're the boys of some man who isn't me._

The voice kept nagging him to get off the flight until the plane was in the air, at which point it seemed that it deemed Gibbs a lost cause. _No going back now_ , Gibbs thought smugly. _And no way that anyone will find me_.

When he relaxed in his seat Franks chuckled beside him. "Taking my advice, Probie?"

"Not a whole lot that could get us out here," Gibbs said with a shrug. "In particular whatever was going on back there."

Franks grunted. "You'll worry yourself into the grave."

"How's that?" Gibbs asked.

"The second I get fed up with it I'll shoot ya."

Gibbs laughed. "Who's gonna repair your house for free, then?"

Considering Gibbs' statement, Franks hummed. "Okay, I won't shoot ya. I'll just send ya back here when you're done."

Gibbs rolled his eyes. "Right. Because there's no such thing as wear and tear."

Franks shot him a look. "Just for that, when we land, you're buying the first beers. I'll head straight back to my humble _casa_."

Gibbs chuckled, and looked out the window, worries about his previous recovered memory all but forgotten.

* * *

The morning after Boss had left the office, Tony was standing outside the door to Papa's house, debating whether he should go in or not. On one hand, he hadn't been little around Papa since Papa had gotten hurt, and the man might not remember this part of their relationship. On the other, he hadn't been little around Papa since Papa had gotten hurt, and he really needed some cuddles.

The cuddles won out and Tony knocked on the door before walking in. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, listening to the house to see whether or not Papa was here. There was no sound of wood being scraped, no smell of coffee in the air, no sight of steam wafting from the shower. "Papa?" Tony called.

No response. Tony frowned. It was ten in the morning, Papa was usually awake by now. He didn't want to go upstairs to investigate. The house was too still, too quiet, too...untouched. Suddenly Tony wanted to bolt out of the house.

Hadn't Uncle Ducky taken Papa back here? If that was true, then why did nothing look like it had been moved? Tony dashed up the stairs, mind racing with a million thoughts, all of them worrying about if Papa was all right, if he was back in the hospital, if he was _okay okay just please oh please let Papa be okay!_  Tony skidded to a stop in front of Papa's room, and ran inside.

Nothing appeared out of place, at first. The sheets and blanket were still made the same way, the pillow still had the indent of Papa's skull. Pooky was still on the top of Papa's dresser, along with a bottle of Kate's brand of perfume. But. The closet was wide open. Tony walked over, already having an idea of what he was going to find. And there, in the bottom right corner of the closet, were the carpet indentations of where Papa's suitcase was supposed to be.

Even though he was expecting something like this, Tony's breath still caught in his throat and he still almost sobbed. With shaky hands he pulled out his phone and hit number two on speed dial.

"...Tony? Something wrong?"

"T-T-T-Tim," Tony stammered out, before dissolving into tears.

"Whoa, whoa! Hey, Tony? Tony, what's wrong?" McGee asked.

Tony wouldn't be surprised if the man was grabbing his holster this very second. "P-Papa-Papa's..." he cried. "Papa's house."

"Hey, Tony? I'm gonna be right over. Is Papa there? Can I talk to him?"

"N-n-nuh-uh," Tony said. "Pa-Papa's...Papa's..."

"It's okay, it's okay," McGee soothed. "Look, I live on the opposite side of DC from where the nearest Metro stop to Papa's house is, so I might be a while. Is there anything you can do until then? Or is it an emergency?"

"N-not h-h-hurt," Tony managed. "G-g-gone."

All activity on the other end of the line stopped, and McGee was silent. "...Gone?" he asked, like he couldn't believe the words. "Tony, who's gone?"

"P...Pa..." he couldn't finish the answer. He was crying too hard and his breathing was too shallow and he was half certain he was going to die for reasons he couldn't explain. Was this what McGee felt when he had a panic attack? It was awful!

"Hey, ssh, ssh, Tony, I need you to breathe," McGee instructed. There was the sound of a car starting up on the other end of the line. "I'm gonna go the fastest I can to you without getting in trouble, okay? Stay on the line with me, kid, I need to know you're okay."

Tony nodded, gasping for air. He was feeling really, _really_  dizzy all of a sudden. "D-di-dizzy," he said.

"Sit down, Tony, if you're not doing that already. Put me on speaker if you can, and just put the phone on the ground, okay?"

"U-uh-huh," he breathed, nearly collapsing on the floor and putting the phone next to him.

He continued to cry and stammer out responses on the phone until the front door opened and McGee ran in, zeroed in on Tony, and hugged the boy, instructing him to breathe in and out on his count. When Tony felt better, he pulled away from McGee, rubbing his eyes. "What got you so worked up, Tony? And where's Gibbs? I would have figured he would have helped you," McGee asked.

Tony's breath hitched as he pointed to the closet, and McGee looked over, catching the empty space and his eyes widened. "He didn't..." he whispered, voice going very soft and sounding very much like Timmy. "He didn't...leave us?"

"What do you think?" Tony spat bitterly. "I was wrong. Papas do leave. Everyone does."

"Not everyone! I'm not leaving you, not ever!" Timmy said sharply. But his anger melted away as fast as it was there. "What are we gonna do now?"

"I..." Tony swallowed. "I don't know."


	2. Chapter 2

DiNozzo was making wise cracks at Ziva again, but for the fourth time this week, McGee wasn't laughing. Don't get him wrong, it was hard not to, sometimes, but he had to be at one hundred percent all the time now. Laughter always threw him off his game, so he tuned out the banter and scrolled through his e-mail inbox, reading case after case after case, looking for something DiNozzo would be interested in.

Man, did he miss Gibbs.

It had been two weeks since they found out Gibbs had left the county, and possibly the country. They hadn't heard anything from him, and even Abby was receiving radio silence. The entire NCIS building seemed to be different.

All the other agents were doing double-takes at DiNozzo when he reclined in the team leader's seat. He had earned it rightfully, and McGee knew that Gibbs would never entrust his team with anyone else, but the outsiders were always waiting for Gibbs to swoop around the corner, to growl and kick DiNozzo back to his old desk.

Much as he might like to be, DiNozzo wasn't Gibbs. Never had been and never could be. Sometimes he would get very close; McGee could notice a certain movement in his gait and a certain twist in a scowl--but as soon as it was there, it would be gone, and DiNozzo would be grinning and laughing and cracking a joke, and McGee couldn't help the hollow pang in his chest whenever he realized that Gibbs wasn't here; and DiNozzo was Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo Junior, Team Leader, rather than Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo Junior, Senior Field Agent.

And _he_  of all people was Senior Field Agent now. Him, Timothy McGee, with only two years of any sort of field experience under his belt as opposed to DiNozzo's eight...though it was getting close to three and nine, respectively. He had so much to learn. He still sometimes screwed up procedure when he was working under pressure with a time limit, and he wasn't good with people, and though he could shoot a gun, so could everyone else on the team; he was no one special.

His mind would go a million miles an hour at every crime scene, analyzing everything from the witnesses to the evidence to the body to his boss to his subordinates. One misstep could land them all in deep waters without a raft. And he was getting to know his team inside and out to avoid that at all costs.

Lee was a good kid. Bright, but not necessarily fit for the field on the MCRT. DiNozzo worked her anyway, making her do the best she could and never pushing her farther than he thought she could take. She never remembered to watch her six, so McGee was always watching it for her.

DiNozzo generally didn't care where he was or who knew about it; he would go out to the crime scenes, work with them at collecting evidence and talking to witnesses, and generally be out in the open with emotion even if he wasn't out in the open _about_  his emotions. McGee was always worried someone was going to find them at a crime scene, see DiNozzo and just start shooting. It wouldn't be surprising, especially considering the MCRT's track record with closing cases and disgruntled suspects. So McGee was always watching for danger around DiNozzo as well.

Ziva was, well...Ziva. One minute he knew exactly where she was and the next she was across the room. He had to spend half his attention just keeping track of her location before he could even worry about danger. Still, he kept an eye out, because the responsibility shouldn't lie all on DiNozzo to take care of the team, he had to make sure the cases were getting solved. But keeping track of everyone _and_  doing the job was running McGee into the ground.

A week later he asked DiNozzo how he did it, a quiet night after Ziva had left and DiNozzo had dismissed Lee. DiNozzo just cocked his head to the side and arched an eyebrow, a silent request for clarification. "You kept track of everyone and made sure they were safe, including Gibbs, and _still_  managed to do your job better than everyone on the team and _still_  kept your head in the heat of the moment and _still_  came out mostly unscathed ninety-nine percent of the time. How did you do it?"

DiNozzo flashed a rueful smile. "It helped to be able to unwind completely after work. Of course, practice came into it a lot too. You'll learn soon enough."

McGee doubted that, but as days turned into weeks turned into months, he found he was getting rather adept at keeping track of everything. DiNozzo was smiling at him more often, and praising him when he did something right, though he wasn't afraid to let McGee know that he had screwed up.

Lee was coming into her own, as well. McGee never thought he'd see it happen, but she was getting comfortable in the field. She had a long way to go and her aim needed work, but she was getting accustomed to examining crime scenes and was no longer constantly looking over her shoulder in fear.

Everyone was maturing, actually. After Abby had a week-long sulk and a month of labeling DiNozzo as a "Trainee" in her lab, (which most likely came to an end after Ducky explained why that was Not Okay,) she had started warming up to the idea that DiNozzo was the new team lead, and had even given him advice on how to make things run more smoothly, things that Gibbs had told her but hadn't passed on to DiNozzo before he left.

Palmer was making less inappropriate comments at crime scenes. Not by a lot, but he was less jittery and nervous energy now, which McGee attributed to the significant decrease in Gibbs glaring at him. And Palmer and DiNozzo would sometimes converse about the case in private, not that McGee told anyone he knew. He figured he owed it to his Supervisory Agent to allow a small amount of respite, and a fresh pair of eyes.

Even Ducky had changed, if McGee couldn't call it maturing. He treated DiNozzo almost better than he had even treated Gibbs, and got straight to the heart of the matter in cases. Like with Gibbs, however, he wasn't afraid to let DiNozzo know when he had crossed a line. Some things, McGee supposed, withstood change.

Including missing Gibbs. Well...okay. Yeah. He did miss Gibbs a bit. Not as much as he used to. It was more the ache of wanting Papa that refused to go away.

He and Tony had gone to Ducky's for help before when things got really bad, and would usually stay the night. Problem was, almost every night Tony would be wracked with horrible nightmares about the team dying, or Gibbs coming back and doing horrible things to them, or older, unspeakable nightmares. Timmy would always help however he could, but he couldn't do much, and that more than anything else killed him. Because while Tony was in charge of everyone, Timmy was in charge of Tony. And he _had_  to watch out for bad guys, he _had_  to make sure Tony got a good night sleep so he could lead, he _had to had to you have to be a good big brother you have to make sure he's okay because if you don't then Ziva and Lee could get hurt and that falls on_ you _, Timothy!_

So maybe Timmy wasn't in much of a better state than Tony was. At least he recognized it, instead of steadfastly ignoring the problem like both DiNozzo and Tony did.

One Saturday when they were working the weekend shift, examining a crime scene, McGee could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He turned, and there was the stuff of nightmares; a suspect they had arrested on a case a while ago, larger than life and glaring right at DiNozzo on the edge of their crime scene.

McGee moved fast, intercepting the man before he could take more than a few steps and forcing him back under the crime scene tape, yelling towards the local LEOs to take care of him.

When he turned around, he saw Ziva, Lee, and DiNozzo all staring at him. "What?" he asked. "You've never seen a disgruntled previous suspect before?"

DiNozzo smiled. "I've seen plenty. I've never seen you worry so much about it, McMotherHen," he teased. "Get back to work, all of you."

As McGee went back to collecting samples and evidence, he saw DiNozzo nod to him with a smile and give him a subtle thumbs-up. McGee smiled back. DiNozzo considered him fit for the SFA position now, or at least knew he had gotten used to looking after everyone while remaining in the line of duty. Sure, when Gibbs left they all were reeling, but they had adapted. And it wasn't like there was going to be another drastic change to the team anytime soon. Someone would have to die or be accused of treason or something equally heinous for that to happen.

McGee doubted an incident like that would happen for another year, or at least until DiNozzo ruffled some feathers at the conference he was scheduled to go to in a month.

Everything was getting back to a new state of normal.


	3. Chapter 3

_"You'll do," Gibbs told him before walking away. Tony didn't even get the chance to ask what he meant before he was gone. Now he was left with a team,_ his team, _that he needed to protect at all costs..._

_Firefight. That was the only word for their situation. Bullets were flying everywhere and it seemed certain that no one was getting out of this alive. Loud shots kept banging throughout the warehouse, making Tony's ears ring. Lee screamed from somewhere nearby, and Tony heard the sound of a body hitting concrete._

_"Lee's hit!" McGee shouted across the way, words ducking between bullets. "We need an ambulance!"_

_"We need a way out as well!" Ziva called back "I do not believe we are getting either anytime soon!"_

_Tony swallowed. Lee was almost certainly dying, and they couldn't help her. McGee fired a few shots at the perpetrators but took a bullet to the shoulder, screaming in pain and dropping behind his measly pile of metal pipes in the warehouse that were his only cover._

_Ziva moved to help him and Tony tried to get her to stop, but despite Tony's urges to hide, she continued on. And even with her cat-like reflexes, got a shot to the abdomen for her troubles._

_Sirens in the distance scared the perpetrators away, but it was already too late. The smell of blood filled the air and it made Tony want to vomit. He couldn't save anyone. All the people from_ his _team were gonna die and it would be all his fault, and he could hear Gibbs berating him for being so_ stupid _and these were_ your  _orders_ , _DiNozzo_ , _and his dad was joining in the chorus, pointing out every flaw in his plan and what he should have done instead, and McGee was yelling his name over and over and Tony couldn't get any closer--_

Tony sat up with a gasp, bunching the sheets in his fists and slamming them into the mattress. He had to get help, everyone was dying and he was supposed to keep them alive he was _responsible_  for them and what would Gibbs say if he could see them now and and and--"Tony!"

Blinking, Tony realized there was weight on his legs and he was being shaken by something attached to it. The mattress he was sitting on was too soft to be the hard ground he had been crouching against, and there was silence in the house, as opposed to the very loud, very prevalent gunshots he could have sworn he had heard mere minutes ago. Which meant all of that had been a dream, and the person calling his name was "...Timmy?"

Tony's brother sagged with relief. "Geez, Tony, it only took you ten minutes! You've been whimpering and kicking all night, and then you started screaming!"

"Sorry," Tony mumbled. Some leader _he_  was.

"S'okay, but I was ready to get Uncle Ducky," Timmy said, hands moving off Tony's shoulders and into his own lap. "You just kept yelling that it was all your fault...what was it?"

Tony rubbed his eyes and yawned. He needed more sleep that he was getting. "Case," he said. "Bad one. Everyone got shot, and it was bad, and I was stuck hiding behind a half blown-out wall dodging bullets."

Timmy's brow furrowed. Tony didn't like that look on his brother, that always meant he was going to fight against what Tony had said. "That doesn't sound like it was your fault at all. It sounds like you were making sure someone was able to get help when all the bad guys left."

Tony shook his head. "It was _my fault_ ," he insisted.

"Nuh-uh," Timmy protested. "You did everything you were s'posed to do. If _we_  broke protocol, that doesn't fall on _you_."

"My bad orders," Tony argued.

"You sound like my head when I do something wrong." Timmy said. "Except in my head it's Daddy's voice. Do you hear your Daddy's voice too when you think something's your fault?"

Tony hesitated. How did Timmy know? He nodded slowly, eyeing his brother.

Timmy mirrored Tony's nodding. "Then lemme help..." He pat around the bed until he found his blanket, and draped it over Tony's shoulders. Then he found Tony's pacifier and put it in Tony's mouth. "I'm gonna get Uncle Ducky, don't move," Timmy instructed.

Tony watched him go, and felt the blanket Timmy loved so much. It was soft under his touch, made of cotton. He gave it an experimental sniff, knowing that helped Timmy calm down. It smelled more like his brother than Papa by now, and Tony knew Timmy hated that. Papa had been gone long enough that he was becoming nothing more than a mostly fond memory, and Tony feared the incoming realization that he...wasn't coming back.

Timmy came into the room and Uncle Ducky followed him. "What seems to be the matter, lad? I can see Timothy has been looking after you."

Tony looked at Uncle Ducky and berated himself that after all this time he was still upset that he couldn't talk to Papa. "Had a dream," Tony said. "A nasty one."

Uncle Ducky winced in sympathy. "Would you like to talk about it?"

Timmy flopped onto the bed next to Tony and squeezed his hand. Tony looked away. "Everyone was shot...and it was all my fault."

"Did you give the order to pull the trigger?" Uncle Ducky asked.

Tony shook his head.

"Then how could it be your fault?"

"My bad orders," Tony explained. "I got bad information, which lead to my orders, which got everyone shot, and it's all because I believed a bad guy."

"My dear Anthony, that sounds anything _but_  your fault," Uncle Ducky said. "Believing someone is not a bad trait, and the person at fault would not be you for your belief, but the individual who gave you false information."

Tony would love to believe Uncle Ducky, but the voice in his head that sounded too much like Daddy was still snarling _your fault, your fault, your fault_!

"Tell the voice in your head that sounds like your daddy to shut up," Timmy ordered. "It wasn't your fault, no matter how much you'd like to fight that it was."

Tony slumped where he was sitting. "But...what would Gibbs say?" he couldn't even say Papa. Papa was gone, killed in the explosion all those months ago. Papa wouldn't leave them like this, Papa wouldn't make Tony take on all this responsibility without a safety net, Papa wasn't _here_.

"Gibbs makes mistakes too, dear boy," Uncle Ducky said, a fire in his eyes. "He is not perfect, nor should he pretend to be. The fact that you believe he would not have messed up your case is just that; a thought. You have no idea what he may have done. In fact, you have no idea he wouldn't have done the exact same thing!"

Tony looked down at the mattress, tears forming in his eyes. "He put _me_  in charge! He trusted _me_  to take care of everyone! It's _my_  fault!"

Uncle Ducky shushed him and hugged him gently. "That responsibility should not fall to a young boy such as yourself, hm? It's all right, lad. Everyone is alive, and breathing. It's all right."

Tony shook as Ducky hugged him, and he sobbed. "I want Papa," he admitted. "I want Papa back so I don' hafta be in charge."

"I know you do, dear boy. I know you do," Ducky murmured.

* * *

Ducky dialed Ziva on his phone the next morning, while Timmy and Tony were still asleep. Ziva didn't even bother greeting him. "It happened again, didn't it?" she asked.

"I'm afraid so," he affirmed.

Ziva cursed. "Ducky, this is the fifth time this month, and it is only the fourteenth!"

"I am aware," Ducky said. "What are we going to do about it?"

Ziva sighed over the line. "I suppose I will invite Tony over to my house again this Friday. Abby can always take care of McGee, she has a way of comforting him that I doubt even Gibbs has figured out." Ducky chuckled, and could hear the smile in Ziva's voice as she spoke next, "Most of all, we have to continue helping them. They are grieving in their own way, and we know that Gibbs will not be returning. They need to realize that as well."

"Sometimes I worry their realization is exactly the problem. Think about it: when Abby realized she almost shut down for an entire week. These two were practically dependent on the man, at least in their headspaces. And if they realize, in headspace, he won't be returning...I'm afraid there is no medical cure for a broken heart, or a broken spirit."

Ziva sighed. "I need to think this over some more, but I am sure we can come up with something. I will see you in the office later?"

"Of course, dear girl. And remember that my offer to you always stands..."

There was a thick pause. "Thank you, Ducky, but as I have explained before, I do not need your assistance to grieve in this manner. I have come to terms with it."

Ducky nodded, unconvinced. "Even so. I cannot imagine anyone who would not want to help you in any way they could among us."

"Thank you, Ducky," Ziva repeated, softer. "The offer does show that you care, and I appreciate it."

Ziva hung up without another word and Ducky sighed. Perhaps he had been wrong about Ziva. The more he heard her talk, he did not hear a little crying out for help, but he didn't hear the assassin everyone insisted she was, either. When it came down to the wire, Ducky heard...a caregiver. One who had seen and felt true, unbridled pain, and never wanted to see anyone else go through it. Those times when her voice went soft, and he had immediately thought she was in a littlespace, however older than the usual ages, she was taking care with her words. She was reliving some painful memory, and trying to reconcile the past with the present. He doubted anyone, even Ziva herself, would believe his analysis. He couldn't deny she cared for the boys a great deal, and simply couldn't tell how to make herself fit in to the whole family dynamic before it was gone.

But enough of that. It was time to get the boys up and ready to work. Tony had a conference to get to and Timmy had to take over the reigns of the team for a week. While he had no doubt they would be all right, Ducky was sure that when eventually Ziva got in, she would be watching their backs, just in case. While he didn't have as infamous a gut as Gibbs', he got the sense that soon, they were going to need it.

**Author's Note:**

> Also, shout-out to jenval3277, for wanting to see the fallout of leaving for Mexico. This has been a long-time coming, and I hope you enjoy it.


End file.
